


the end is near (but I have you)

by mysafeplaceishere



Category: A Nightmare on Elm Street (2010), Dead by Daylight (Video Game), Halloween Movies - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Dreams and Nightmares, Eventual Romance, F/M, Falling In Love, Gore, Murder, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Plot Twists, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Stalking, Tags Contain Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-17 06:53:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28844895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysafeplaceishere/pseuds/mysafeplaceishere
Summary: It wasn’t lost on you to notice that when he showed up, Haddonfield wasn’t the quiet town as you knew it to be. His boyish charm swept you off your feet, but with him came killers made for suffering.So as you fall deeper in love, the worse the nightmares, stalkings, and murder attempts get. Something deep within you says that Haddonfield might be the last place you and your friends see alive by the end of it all.With a mysterious entity pulling the strings from the shadows—surely everyone will die in the end. After death? No one knows.
Relationships: Quentin Smith/Reader, Quentin Smith/You
Comments: 3
Kudos: 10





	the end is near (but I have you)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MetalMistress](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MetalMistress/gifts).



> Yes, hi, hello. Welcome to this weird idea I got while chatting with my best friend one day. 
> 
> I should warn you now that this is very out of the box. While it is a Dead By Daylight fic, that doesn’t mean I won’t be including things from the Halloween movies or The Nightmare On Elm Street movies as well. Quentin is the love interest. This is HIS fic. I’m just adding other complications to the mix to keep it from being strictly romance. It’s a good mix between a romcom, thriller, and horror all at once and I hope I can do all of those justice. It starts off somewhat slow but doesn’t stay that way. Trust me. It’s gonna get chaotic. 
> 
> I will state that this is an x reader fic but I will not be using y/n. Descriptions and background history about our reader will be sketchy so all people can enjoy reading. The only thing I’ll say is that this is F/M.
> 
> I will give warnings before each chapter just for the people that might need one. Examples: gore, mild sexual content, trigger warnings, etc. But I doubt most of you will care considering you’ve already seen this is a dbd/horror inspired fic and you have a strong stomach. Tags will be added as each chapter comes out; I don’t want to spoil any surprises along the way. ;)
> 
> Lastly, this is dedicated to my best friend @MetalMistress because she helped me come up with ideas and convinced me to go through with this. She is amazing and her work is, too. 
> 
> I sincerely hope you guys enjoy the ride if you decide to stick around. Comments and kudos help keep me motivated and get chapters out faster, just FYI. 
> 
> Enjoy!

One simple thought always lingers in the back of your mind throughout the day. Sometimes it’s all you can think about as you fold away another bag of donated clothes and some days you barely pay it any mind.

Why haven’t you moved on yet?

Haddonfield is quaint. It has been since you moved in two years ago looking for a calm, quiet place to settle down without your family looking over your shoulder at all times. You knew about the previous happenings of the town before you decided to move in—after all, the legend of Michael Myers never truly simmered down. The previous owner of your home made sure to let you know that there had been some gruesome murders left unresolved to the public.

Not many people wanted to move into a town made up of killings and mysteries left unsolved. Where had Michael Myers gone? No one knew where he had disappeared to after his rampage and that made other interesting folk looking for a home move on real fast. So when you finally settled down, you would be the last one to settle down for quite some time.

You didn’t have a reason to be weary; there was never a doubt in your mind that if in fact Michael Myers showed back up, you would be long gone before he could get to you. All you cared about was getting away from your relatives and that is exactly what you did. You found a decently priced home that wasn’t too close to the other houses in the neighborhood, scored a decent job at a retail clothing store, and made some friends along the way.

Life was peaceful.

After about a year had passed, you found yourself just moving through day to day dazed. Haddonfield is small and everybody knows everybody. If someone had secretly slept with someone else, the whole town would know about it the next day. Every face is permanently embedded into your brain whether you know them personally or not. While the town gossiped, it wasn’t necessarily interesting or eventful. Most of your days passed all the same: get up for work, work an eight hour shift, go home to shower and then sleep. There was never any fun in anything and yet being bored all day left you time to notice weird occurrences throughout the town.

There were certain areas of town people refused to step near—like the theater which closed down around the time you moved in. It used to be the hotspot for teens and young adults on the weekends. The biggest thing that even mildly concerned you was the fact that same people would go missing for weeks at a time without a trace and then show back up like that never left not long after the two week mark. Those that did come back were never the same—always talking about an endless loop of death. Their eyes didn’t hold as much life as they used to and you found that odd.

Those souls never gave any indication as to what happened. Too afraid, too cautious.

You didn’t know if maybe you were overthinking it. People run away all the time just to return after they realized they made a mistake. It was common for troubled teenagers to do that; you did it once, and yet it still didn’t settle right with you.

You thought you were going stir-crazy. The town, for such a small place, could be a lot sometimes. A getaway was what you needed.

It was around a year ago that you decided to take some time off of work. You had enough money saved up for a small vacation and, for the first time in awhile, you were excited for something. You had eagerly packed your bags, dressed yourself up nice, and as soon as you stepped foot out of your front door, all that excitement vanished in an instant. Your stomached twisted into knots, your head began to ache, and every part of yourself was screaming to stay. Part of you remembers there being the faintest voice in the back of your head, whispering how it wasn’t safe to leave.

You chalked it up to your intuition at the time. That was the only rational explanation, and you never went on your vacation. It didn’t feel right to leave.

So why haven’t you moved on yet? Most likely fear if you’re honest with yourself. Fear, or maybe something unseen wants you to stay and you don’t know it yet.

•••

You rest your chin in your palm with a deep exhale. These slow days are killing you. How many times have you glanced up at the clock on the wall hoping for it to be time to leave? More times than you care to count at this point.

Usually you would busy yourself with the more undesirable tasks like washing donated clothes, folding the stuff that is clean, dusting, sweeping, and anything else that needs some TLC. But you had already done it this morning while waiting for business and left nothing for yourself to do but stare at the counter. Your boss left around an hour ago saying he had some important stuff to take care of despite you knowing that he’s going home to get drunk and pass out on his living room floor. Which leaves you, the only employee he has, to lock up the place when your shift ends in another two hours.

The thought of leaving early and keeping a secret crossed your mind a few times but your loyalty and good hearted nature told you to tough it out. Sometimes you really hate being a kind person.

You slump against against the counter whine. Why hadn’t you brought a book to keep you preoccupied? There was a new one sitting on your bedside table just calling your name; oh what wonderful, romantic adventures you could be having right now. What you wouldn’t give for a little spice in your love life right about now.

The bell above the entrance rings when the door is ripped open and you sit up immediately, eyes wide. Your heart lurches into your throat when seeing it’s Jenny Lane, the worst person you have the pleasure of meeting in your entire life. She’s rude, inexplicably snobby and snuffs out any good mood by walking into the room. Her father is one of the richest men in the town so she has a bit of a chip on her shoulder. You don’t have time to mentally brace yourself before she’s barreling over, snarling like a feral house cat.

“You sold me a shirt with a _hole_ in it!” She slaps her hand down on the front counter and slides the shirt back to you.

You blink. She bought that shirt yesterday while on a mindless stroll through town. You found the hole in the seam of the ugly thing while you were ringing her up. Company policy states that you have to tell customers if something is wrong with their item, and you did. You explained it to her in the nicest way possible and she seemed to understand at the time. Then again, when you think back on it hard enough you can remember her digging through her purse.

“I’m sorry, but you knew when I sold it to you. I even told you,” you apologize with a tight-lipped smile.

“I want my money back,” she hisses, eyes narrowing.

You mindlessly point to the sign above the register and she does a double take at it. “We don’t accept returns.”

Her face goes slack with disbelief while you simply tilt your head with the same customer service grin you wear day to day. You watch her go through every stage of anger there is known to man before she snatches the shirt from your hands. You have to refrain from climbing over the counter to wring her perfect neck with your own hands. That long hair she has hanging from her head in braids looks good enough to pull on right about now but you kindly lace your hands together.

“I apologize for the inconvenience.”

You don’t feel apologetic, but it’s in the policy that you apologize whether the problem was your fault or not. In this case, if it most certainly not your fault and yet you’re catching the backlash. As always.

“Well you can tell that sleezy manager of yours that he can keep the shirt,” she throws it to the floor, “and that I _will not_ be back.”

You pretend to be offended which only angers her further. “Oh, I’m sorry you don’t pay attention. Maybe the next time you come back—because let’s face it, you always come back—you will use your eyes instead of your _daddy’s pocket change_.”

That felt good to get off your chest. Too good. You have been itching to get back at her for so, so long.

On the other hand, you might lose your job for it. Her face blossoms the darkest shade of red before she begins to stomp of the shirt, promptly tearing it in two with the end of her high heels. You watch with raised brows as she spits on it and turns for the exit. Coming through the door is one of your closest friend and Jenny clips her shoulder on the way out, not even bothering to mutter an apology.

Laurie rubs the spot she was hit, watching a very angry teen storm down the street through the glass door before turning back to you with squinted eyes. You offer her a wave to which she doesn’t return, only squinting harder. Her blonde hair bounces when she approaches the counter.

“What did you do?” She inquires with a suspicious tilt to her voice.

You offer a shrug. “I might have said something out of line.”

She places her hands on her hips to intimidate you but the easygoing smile that takes over her face makes you release the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding in anticipation. “When will you realize that your mouth is what gets you into trouble?”

“Oh, I already know,” you give a dismissive wave of your hand, “I just don’t care. You know me, Laurie.”

Laurie was one of the first people to welcome you to Haddonfield when you first arrived. It was by mistake that you bumped into her at the grocery store but she didn’t recognize your face and decided it was needed to introduce herself. You were a bit weary at first. Laurie Strode, one of the two people that survived Michael Myers that night. Everyone around town gave you mixed reviews about who she was as a person. Some said she was sweet, caring, a bit on the introverted side. Others said she was the spawn of Satan next to the one that actively sought her down.

Although everyone could agree that wherever she went, danger would follow. You didn’t know how to take in that information, nor did you want to process it when it finally hit you. You had wanted to avoid her.

A bit ironic that she ended up being the one to show you around town and reassure you that she wasn’t what people made her out to be. You found comfort in her strong presence and it was easy to click. She was very up forth with her trauma at first, telling you that the night Michael decided she was next on his kill list, she knew she wouldn’t be the same. Sometimes she gets real quiet, too stuck in her own head and memories. If you snap her out of it with soft touches to her back, some days she might attempt to attack you. She stops herself in time before actually hurting anyone, but it does upset her when it happens.

You know not to take it personally when she needs a few days to herself.

“Why’re you here?” You lean forward on your elbows.

Her eyes flicker down to the mangled shirt on the floor before looking back up at you. “The shop looked dead. Thought I would swing by to see how you were doing,” she scratches the back of her neck, “I would say not a very good job at keeping customers happy.”

“Shut up,” you laugh, “you would have snapped at her worse than me. Don’t pretend you wouldn’t.”

You both fall into mild chatter and lose track of time. It’s when you subconsciously glance to the clock on the wall do you realize it’s time to close up shop for the day. Laurie bids you a goodbye with a short hug and a mocking pet to the hair, in which you slap her hand. After watching her leave and locking the door behind her, you get to work on finding the broom and dustpan to sweep up the remains of the shirt Jenny left.

While you’re dumping its remains into the trash and putting up the broom, the wall phone begins to ring. Your face contorts with a grin knowing you don’t have to answer that because the shop is technically closed. Phone calls give you extreme anxiety and everytime you’re forced to answer it in front of your boss, you end up stuttering and red in the face. You can’t count how many times you have went to use the usual, “hello, thank you for calling Mitch’s Clothing Retail,” and end up saying something the complete opposite of that.

You guess that is what happens when raised to be afraid of everything. Your family thought that sheltering you your whole life was going to do more good than bad. How mistaken they made themselves out to be.

The phone falls silent as you continue to close up the place by emptying the register and stashing away the money in the safe for your boss to count at a later time. Then you begin to lock the backdoor, turn off all the lights, blow out your lemon scented candles that cover up the musty smell of old, used clothes that not even laundry detergent can tame and prepare to leave. Just as your hand touches the door handle, the phone rings again.

You throw a glance at it over your shoulder with narrowed eyes. If someone keeps calling like that, it might be important. It could be your boss for all you know. You internally groan knowing that if it is Mitch checking in, he won’t be pleased knowing you purposely didn’t answer it.

You swallow down the lump in your throat and stalk over to it. Your hand rests on the handle for a brief second, slightly trembling before you decide that ripping the bandaid off would be better than prolonging the pain. Just get it over with and you can go home.

You lift the phone to your ear. “Hello, thank you for calling Mitch’s _Clothi—ng Retail._ How can I help you?”

Your voice cracked. That is embarrassing enough that you want to drive to the nearest bridge, get out of your car and throw yourself off the edge. You might do that now as you ponder on the idea.

_“Hey,”_ a voice greets, _“I was calling to ask if you guys are hiring.”_

At least they didn’t comment on the voice crack.

You purse your lips. Mitch did say he was looking to hire some unfortunate soul to help you out on days like these eventually and it wouldn’t suck to have someone to talk to on slow days. It couldn’t hurt to at least try and see what they are like before deciding.

“It’s only my boss and I that work the store currently. It would be nice to have some extra help,” you twist your finger around the phone cord, mindlessly fidgeting with anxiety.

“ _At this point I’m willing to take any job. I’ve been searching around for awhile,_ ” the person responds with enthusiasm.

It’s obviously a male. A younger one judging from the tone and from experience working at other places, the younger the guy, the worse of a job they seem to do. Most of them sit back on their parents money and only get the job to good around. But he sounds like he might be in it for the long haul and that could be promising.

“You could come in tomorrow at ten A.M. so I can see your face in person. My boss will here at that time, too,” you chew on your bottom lip.

_ “I’ll be there. Thank you.” _

And the line goes dead. You hang up the phone and slap a hand to your forehead, murmuring how stupid you are for not getting his name just in case. No one ever comes in this place looking for work so it’ll be easy to identify him in that case.

All you worry about right now is getting home, eating some food to satisfy your cravings and get some sleep for the next shift. No sense is fretting over things you can’t help.

•••

The sight of your driveway lit up by your headlights makes a soft smile take over your face. Just the thought of a warm bath as the sky’s colors of pink and orange collide with shadows and stars is enough to make you sigh.

You park your car and quickly climb out holding your keys to your chest. The air holds a bite to it but the chill is a welcome change from being cramped in that dusty retail store for hours at a time. Fresh air really does cure the soul and help you think better. Not that you have much to think about these days besides the small, trivial things that don’t matter in the long run.

The sound of someone cursing to themselves makes you pause on the way to your front door. It’s soft, wouldn’t be audible to the ears if not for the fact that the area holds no sound but slight wind brushing through the trees. You can pinpoint it coming from your neighbors house, just past the wooden fence. Although it puts you on edge knowing someone is on that land. No one had lived in that house as far as you can tell; it’s always been empty and dark inside.

You creep your way to the end of the fence closest to the road and peer over the side of it to see what the commotion is. What you find is a moving truck parked in the driveway and a figure scrambling around in the back, tossing out small boxes. Your brows arch up at the sight.

You know that spying isn’t the best way to go about this but part of you is weary. No one has moved into Haddonfield in what feels like ages. It’s just been you at the end of this street, tucked away by the trees in your yard. In the back of your head is the thought of a bath and you almost decide to leave introducing yourself for a later time until the person positions their foot wrong and falls out of the truck completely. They hit the ground with a yelp and, normally where you would laugh, you rush over to help them up instead.

You can hear them gasping for air the closer you get. A fall like that knocked the wind from their lungs, no doubt. You know that feeling can invoke pure panic if you can’t catch your breath. When you finally crouch down beside them, you notice that it’s a guy around your age. He’s coughing into his hand and his eyes are screwed shut as he focuses on catching his breath back.

You lay a hand on his shoulder in a comforting manner. “Are you okay?”

His eyes snap open when feeling your touch and hearing your concerned tone. You realize his first instinct is to scramble back and you rip your hand away with a quick apology. His eyes connect with yours and your heart jumps into your throat. There is a pause that you take to take in his features and embed them into your memory as you have done for everyone else in town.

The first thought you have is that he is very easy on the eyes. You would even say he is pretty in the softest, purest way. Handsome, sure, but pretty is the word you would use to best describe him. His face shape is more round rather than a sharp jawline and, although it embarrasses you to admit it, his lips are the same way: round and so very soft looking. His eyes are the richest shade of brown and bore into your soul the longer you stare in complete awe. Dark purple circles frame the underlining of his eye shape and it almost looks as if he has eyeshadow on. The gentle curls of his hair hang in his line of sight and frame his smooth, pale skin in a way that makes heat rise to your face. Albeit his hair is a bit messy and looks like it takes a lot to tame.

“Sorry about scaring you. I really didn’t mean to.”

The expression on his face says he doesn’t know what to do and you offer him a hand to help him up. He’s hesitant for split second before his hand grasps yours and you pull him to his feet with a grunt. The warmth from his hand is almost hot and you jerk back the second he’s on his feet. His face has flushed an embarrassed shade of red and he uses his hand to slick back some curls out of his eyes. The attraction you have to him clenches in your gut at the action.

“You _saw_ that?” Is the first thing he says, voice raspy from the coughing.

“I wanted to see what the noise was. I live right over the fence and got curious when I heard you,” you offer a smile to ease his tension, “since no one has lived in this house for as long as I’ve been here.”

The tension in his shoulders and furrow of his brows relax at your easygoing nature. His mouth curves into a slight smile to return your kindness and your legs suddenly feel like jelly. It isn’t often that you have a cute guy smile at you. Most guys in town don’t even spare you half a glance but you can’t blame them. All you ever do is work and sleep. You don’t take the time to mingle like normal people your age and you were fine with that for awhile. 

This is chance to make a friend besides Laurie and you take the moment to introduce yourself, hoping for the best. That one genuine smile in return sets every nerve in your nervous system to life. They practically sing to life. 

“I’m Quentin,” he returns the gesture, “sorry for distracting you. I’ve been trying to get moved in all day and the frustration was starting to get to me.”

Your gaze drifts to inside the truck. There are only a few more boxes left to be carried inside and it’s getting late. You don’t want him to be stumbling through the dark trying to do this by himself. That bath of yours could wait.

“Would you like some help?”

He wrings his hands together in a nervous manner. “You don’t have to do that.”

You take that as an invitation and climb inside of the truck. He watches you with astonishment in his eyes, almost like he was struck across the face for saying something inappropriate. You scramble in the back for a few seconds before pushing one of the heavier boxes to the front for him to catch in his arms. He stumbles from the weight for a second before his back adjusts and he gives you a sincere grin.

“Consider it my _official_ neighborly welcome, Quentin.”

Just like that, the two of you hit it off. Turns out he was more of a talker than he made himself out to be and you didn’t mind listening as he told you where he was from. Springwood, Ohio was a long ways away from Haddonfield and you almost asked why he chose somewhere so far away from his home. The only information you got from that was he wanted to move on from something that left him emotionally scarred.

The two of you made an effort to change the subject whenever the conversation got back around to either past life. You learned he was on the swim team back in school and in turn would offer him something about yourself so it was fair. Such things like favorite colors, style of music preferred, and anything surface level that wasn’t uncomfortable to mention. Despite that, you found yourself having fun for the first time in ages and all you had to do was talk to him. You more often than night found yourself staring in awe when he laughed.

It was well after dark that you realized it was time for you to head home and get ready for work in the morning. All the boxes had made it inside a long time before that. Quentin was very understanding in that aspect and told you he would be seeing you around. You didn’t want to cut ties immediately so in a last ditch effort wrote down your number and slipped it into his hand when leaving. You turned around before you could see the shock on his face morph into the toothiest grin he could muster.

Back at home, you shut your front door and lean against it with a tired exhale. The events from the day hit you you at once and exhaustion makes your body sag forward. It takes the rest of your energy to shuffle through the house to get to the bathroom. You don’t take the time to soak like you had previously planned and scrub the grime away before finding something to eat. You manage to choke down a sandwich in hopes it will settle your stomach for the night and then slip into bed. As soon as your head hits the pillow and you snuggle under the messy, unmade blankets do you pass out before you can flick your lamp off.

When you wake up, you feel well rested and strangely ready to take on the day. Excited, almost. You take your time to stretch, pop a few joints to release the ache, and lay there a few minutes after to prepare yourself. Your eyes flicker over to the window and squint at how bright the sun is in the sky. It is almost too bright.

Then it hits you like a ton of bricks. 

You sit up with a gasp, turn your head to look at your bedside clock, then shriek when seeing it’s half past ten. Last night was quite the blur but you distinctively remember not setting an alarm to wake you up on time. You scurry around your room to throw on random clothes that might work together, hastily brush your teeth and make an attempt to comb your hair out with your fingers the best you can. You trip over your own feet on the way to the car while trying to put on shoes at the same time. 

By the time you make it to work, Mitch’s car is parked in the front and you resist the urge to slam your face against the steering wheel. You burst through the front door and begin to babble nonsense in hopes to save with dignity you have left. Which isn’t much.

“I’m sorry I’m late! I forgot to set my alarm last night because I was helping my new neighbor move in and he was _really sweet_ so you can’t get mad at me—“

“Lemon.”

You halt in your rambling. With wide eyes, you notice Mitch and Quentin standing behind the front counter staring at you. You open your mouth and hold up a finger before slowly lowering your hand back down and closing your mouth, a blush creeping up your face. Quentin’s mouth curls into a smirk. 

Oh. What a nice surprise.

_“Sweet?”_ He inquires.

You make a cut throat motion. “I’ll handle _you_ later.”

Mitch crosses his arms and tilts his head at you like a disappointed parent. You end up laughing in the most nervous manner and Quentin has to hide his enjoyment by stuffing his face into his shoulder. You just threatened him in front of your boss, too.

“It’s a good thing I showed up today otherwise Quentin here would have been waiting awhile. Being late isn’t the best way to hire people, Lemon,” he scolds you.

You cut your eyes. “I told you to stop calling me that, Mitch.”

“And I told you to stop belittling and threatening customers but yet I got a complaint call from Jenny’s father last night. Then you get aggressive with your new coworker? Shame on you.”

You grumble something smart under your breath about how she shouldn’t have pushed you to that point and he snaps his fingers to get your attention. You bristle at his method, red in the face and ready to break his pinky finger. Quentin watches the scene without so much as a word but you can catch his eyes narrow when Mitch continues to snap his fingers after each word. 

“I have to run some errands today. While I’m gone, show Quentin around and get his pay cycle set up.”

You want to argue—setting up pay cycles is the managers job—but clench your jaw and nod to avoid causing a fight. Mitch mumbles something to Quentin before leaving through the backdoor, leaving you standing in the middle of the room ready to punch someone’s lights out. The closest thing to you is an empty clothes rack and you calmly walk over to it, knock it down and begin to stomp on it. The stomps don’t do much but dent it some.

You realize that your anger will continue to spike the more you give into it. What you don’t expect is for Quentin to show up next to your side and set his hand on your middle back. His tender touch alone makes your anger dissolve away. You face him with wide eyes and he offers a smile.

You’re so close to him that you can see the light freckles that decorate his face. He’s also wearing a grey beanie today—that is how he tames his hair, you conclude inside yourself. His eyes are kind and understanding as they stare down at you. It makes you feel hot all over, something you haven’t experienced in ages.

“Thank you for helping me last night.”

You blink a few times before returning his smile with your own timid one. You don’t know why but it feels like you were supposed to help him. Like fate, if you would go that far—and somehow you don’t hate it.

“You... you’re welcome. Don’t mention it.”


End file.
